OK, this has gone beyond a joke. Even those who, like me, prefer bad weather (consequences – soup, jumpers, staying in) to good (salads, skirts, leg-shaving), this summer is ridiculous. The jet stream that normally does the decent thing and hovers north of Scotland and delivers misery to the Scandinavians, so that they can go on making darkly depressing crime dramas and writing thrillers indoors, has moved south over us instead, and banished summer from our unlucky little island.

It has so far been a season of flash floods, freak storms and rain thundering so hard on the Wimbledon roof that you can barely hear yourself screaming for a Murray victory, or howling in despair when the inevitable occurs. In April, twice the average amount of rainfall was recorded. Last month was the wettest June since records began, and in July parts of the country have had a month's worth of rainfall in 24 hours.

A wet day on the beach at Aberystwyth. Photograph: Alamy Live News

And most of the time we are enduring that most infuriating of weather conditions – wet yet hot – so there are literally no clothes in existence that keep you comfortable. You can merely choose between wearing something protective and becoming soaked in sweat from the inside, or something cool and becoming bedraggled in the traditional manner by the precipitation outside. It's actually good to hear that chilly winds are forecast to join the rain by midweek so we can just wrap up simply like it's properly winter again.

Whether it's global warming, the anger of the gods or pure rotten luck, forecasters aren't predicting any dramatic improvement in the situation anytime soon. God knows what's going to happen with the Olympics. At this rate, we're going to have to tent London. If anyone's got a spare tarpaulin, offer it to the IOC now. Your country – your soggy, soggy country – needs you.